We marched over the surface of the lake, and I shook my canteen again, still hearing droplets pinging against the glass. If the canteen had water in it, would I have drank a fifth by now? Hinte fanned her frills again. My fangs dewed with the ghost of irritation. I decided to say it. “Hey Hinte?” She glanced over. “I’m sorry for being so⁠ ⁠—⁠ annoying, earlier. I wanted to know what this is all about⁠ ⁠—⁠ but I guess I never realized you might have good reasons not to tell me. I promise I won't ask anymore questions.” Hinte didn’t glance away for a long moment. “I do have reasons not to tell you. That does not mean do not ask questions. It means do not keep asking the same questions.” “Got it. So uh, can I ask one that’s been bugging me for a while? I kinda figured it out, but to be sure.” Hinte held her breath. “Well, why are you doing that?” I asked, flicking my tongue. “It’s how you feel the crysts, right?” “Yes.” “Aright. And why can’t I feel the crysts humming in your bag?” “Those are damaged and wrapped in schizon to diminish vibration. But the others”⁠ ⁠—⁠ she waved a wing over the lake around us⁠ ⁠—⁠ “are neither wrapped nor cracked. You can hear the vibration from strides away, if you listen closely,” she said. Her tone sounded deliberate, almost practiced, as if she recited something or echoed someone. It was obvious, but having my guesses confirmed pulled little drops of excitement onto my fangs. Perking up, I strained again to feel the telling vibrations. I failed to find the five stones that Hinte demanded. Maybe I had another chance to impress her, by helping her here. My frills filtered the steady cracking of our footsteps and the slow rattling of the lake, hunting again for a telling hum. Finding it, my frills hitched in excitement. When I turned, it was only the faint vibration of the crysts already in Hinte’s bag. Awh. Still, I kept trying, though there was nothing to show for it. But I was not discouraged, I mimed Hinte’s patience. As we walked on, after perhaps another sixth of my imagined canteen, the freezing in my gut began to flow outward and extend across my entire body. Reaching my head, it sharpened my thoughts to fine points, and grounded the lurching weariness in my head. I hadn’t even noticed the headache! I just conflated it with the overall awfulness of sifting. “How long have you been at this?” I wondered aloud. “Almost sixteen cycles,” she said. “I pick many of the stones nearest to the surface after a day or two of sifting. So I wait a cycle for the tides to dredge more crysts to the surface⁠ ⁠—⁠ sometimes longer, if we are busy.” My frills twisted. She might trudge back out here tomorrow? I would refuse if she asked. I was almost sorry. But this just wasn’t for me. She added moments later, “But I do not always come to the lake. Sometimes I hunt for rare flowers in the cliff’s patches of vegetation. Or for fungus in the depths of the caves. It depends on⁠ ⁠—⁠ it varies.” “What! We could have been out in the cliffs picking flowers and instead you dragged me to this blazing hot lake! What did I ever do you?” “Well, we⁠ ⁠—⁠ I needed the crysts most of all right now,” she said “and both moons are out in full tonight⁠ ⁠—⁠ it is a great evening for sifting.” Her next step faltered, and she looked off in the distant vog. Huh? I stargazed every clear night, and I don’t remember Laswaith even waxing yet⁠ ⁠—⁠ and the engulfing blackness of the vog hid both moons, anyway. Why would we even be sifting in the darkness? I didn’t voice those objections. Hinte said she had been doing this for a couple great dances. I trusted her. I settled for saying, “We better go flower-picking next time, then.” I flared my wings in mock aggression. “Sure.” Wait, what? Had someone gone and replaced Hinte with someone reasonable? I let the issue drop. What had I said or done to bring out this weird side of Hinte? She’d always been so guarded whenever I had asked what she did in the cliffs. It took two whole cycles to get her to bring me along. This openness only hatched me more questions. And taking my suggestion just so? She never let things be that simple. Could I push her further? “Oh! And maybe we could invite Uvidet-cyf and make a day out of it!” “No.” “Aw.” I relaxed my wings. It was worth a shot, at least. “I am not trying to ruin your fun, Kinri,” she said, “though it is a nice side-reaction.” I crinkled my frills. The dark-green wiver looked away and up before whisking her wing vaguely. “The cliffs are not more forgiving than the lake,” she said, “they are only another set of dangers. I can handle myself. I can guide you. But hatchsitting two rookies is too dangerous.” I pressed my frills against the side of my head. Hatchsitting? “Well,” I started, not giving her a reaction, “why can’t we just bring along whoever showed you how to navigate the cliffs?” Hinte remained silent for a bit, frills working. “Quiet, we need to focus,” Hinte said, then strode forward without me, our usual formation. I sighed and picked at my scales as we walked, scraping clean the glass and sand. Every few seconds, I glanced up at the ground in front of me, and traced my next few steps. She might gut me if I stumbled into the lake again. Another sixth of my imagined canteen would have drained by now. Let’s call it ghost canteen. It sounded cooler, like a magical artifact. Why yes, it is I, Kinri, the dust-breather, bearer of the immortality raisin, wielder of the ancient ghost-canteen of power and mystery. A faint hum built as I walked along. I had missed it! Humming with excitement, I slinked back toward it, a few strides to my left, just two paces behind me. Breathing twice, I punched through the dustone. My gashless leg flailed in the muck, blind as it reached for a cryst I could only feel. Stretching, I felt the tip of my claws graze the stone. The rest of my foreleg slipped in until I could wrap my claws around it. Pulling out, it glowed a glimmering purple, oblong and angular. I passed it to Hinte. She cracked it, wrapped it and stored it. I might have seen some new expression on her face, but in shadows cast by the lantern, I couldn’t be sure. I brought myself to a high-walk, and slipped beside Hinte before she could start off. This time, we walked off together. Turning to meet her gaze behind the amber goggles, I smiled at her. The dark-green wiver just flicked her tongue. But she smiled back after a beat. I tried to pick at my scales again, but it was tricky when I was walking in step, instead of shuffling behind and sprinting forward whenever I fell too far behind. Hinte slowed without stopping, looking at a spot somewhere to her left. She started forward a little before deciding against it, and regained her pace seamlessly. Walking beside her like this, I saw how much longer Hinte was than me. I didn’t look back after that. We trudged forth for several long moments, silent. The clouds blew past, the gust redoubling. But it was no obstacle. Visibility was as terrible as ever. After another few moments of steady silence, the dark-green wiver jerked to a stop. Her tongue flicked out, waving in the air. “Kinri. Do you smell that?” Hinte growled, low and wary. Her wings and tail both rose, tense. She turned to me, any earlier smiles gone. “I smell blood.” A quiver of anticipation lighted on her fangs. Well. I couldn’t complain of boredom now. * * *